This is America, This vast, confused beauty, This staring, restless speed of loveliness, Mighty, overwhelming, crude, of all forms, Making grandeur out of profusion, Afraid of no incongruities, Sublime in its audacity, Bizarre breaker of moulds.
Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
Even pain pricks to livelier living.
If what we worship fail us, still the fire burns on, and it is much to have believed.
Youth condemns; maturity condones
Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.